A Path Made Plain (23 page)

So much swirling through her mind, much like the dishwater curling into a tiny circular current as it disappeared down the drain.

She did her best to leave all her burdens at God’s feet in prayer. Many of them she could do nothing about.

Please, Gotte, sort it all out.

Chapter 25

25

T
haddeus jabbed the button on his phone to end the call.

“Stupid officer.”

First thing Thursday morning he’d called the Columbus Police Department and asked for the criminal investigation department and Detective Kincaid, the officer handling the Mitchell Gabryszeski homicide. The officer was out sick, so Thad’s call was shuffled to another officer helping with the caseload today.

The man’s tone made Thad feel like he was a bother, an armchair detective who did nothing except watch CSI reruns. Yes, he’d listened to Thad’s story. Thad tried to explain he had recordings of video files to possibly tie the new Senator Bright to Mitch’s murder, but the officer sounded bored.

“I get several calls like this a day on every case I work,” the man had said. “Look, I’ll take a message for Detective Kincaid. He’s going to be back tomorrow morning well. I’ll have him get back with you then. If it’s something notable, I’m sure he’ll follow up.”

Thad left his number and forced his irritation away. Of course, Mitch’s murder wasn’t the only case on the officer’s desk. With every day that passed since Mitch’s death, his case slipped lower and lower on the priority list. With no new leads and fresh cases, it was understandable.

Well, he’d done what he needed to do. But just in case, Thad added the keychain to his own plain keying.

He yawned. He’d seen Betsy in the morning before he left the bakery, and she looked as though she hadn’t rested well. She basically told him someone had called the news station and badmouthed the bakery, telling them someone who wasn’t Amish did the baking.

“I’m sorry,” he’d said. It was the truth. He wasn’t Amish. “If it’s going to cause problems for you, I’ll stop working for you. I’d hate to have to do it, but I might have to give notice anyway if I get the job I interviewed for.”

She’d looked conflicted when he told her about the positive interview he’d had at Palm Trees.

“I understand if you have to work somewhere else. You’re talented, Thaddeus.” She’d given him a tired smile.

“Here, this is for you.” He handed her a folded piece of paper.

“What is it?”

“My recipe for tiramisu pie.”

“Thank you.” She gave him a hint of smile in return. “The customers enjoyed it, so I’m definitely going to add it to the menu.”

“Great.” He’d left before the conversation continued, and after sneaking a dog treat to Winston.

Thad’s phone bleeped, and he jumped.

“Thaddeus Zook.”

“Thad, it’s Pete Stucenski.”

“Hey, Pete. How are you?”
Stucenski.
He needed to write that down.

“Good, good. Listen, I’m calling because I’m hoping you’ve taken some time to decide if you’re coming back to Dish and Spoon.”

“Uh, I don’t believe I am. I’ve actually moved.”

“Ah. You don’t say. Where to?”

“Florida.”

“Nice, nice. Especially this time of year.”

“It’s been definitely different than Ohio.”

Silence hung on the line.

Thad broke it first. “I may have another job here, I think.”

“Oh. Where at?”

He paused. “I, uh, rather wouldn’t say just yet.”

“I see.” The two syllables sounded crisp. “Well, if you need a reference, feel free to put me down and I’ll give a good word for you.”

“Thanks, Pete. I appreciate that.”

“You’re welcome.” The call went dead.

His gut tightened. Strange, or coincidence, Pete would call right after Thad found the video files?

Time would drag until Detective Kincaid returned his call tomorrow. If he didn’t hear anything in the morning, he’d show the Columbus PD his persistence.

* * *

Aenti
Chelle burst into the bakery on Friday, not long before one in the afternoon. She carried her laptop computer case.

“It aired, it aired!”
Aenti
Chelle’s smile made her appear younger than her years. She marched up to the counter triumphantly.

“What?” Betsy looked up from the case. She’d been counting the fried pies and was preparing to let Mrs. Byler know how many fresh pies to fry.

“The bakery. On television.”

“Oh. Susan said she’d let me know if they were going to air it or not.”

“Well, whatever the issue was, I guess the powers at the station didn’t think it was big enough to prevent the segment from broadcasting.”
Aenti
Chelle moved to the nearest table and set her case on top. “Here. I downloaded it from the web site so you can see it. I’m sorry. I couldn’t wait, so I came right over after I finished lunch.”

Betsy’s vision swam for a moment. Television. Her bakery was on television. She grabbed the edge of the counter to steady herself. Thousands of people probably saw the show. She had no idea how many. The thought of the number of viewers made her stomach churn.

“Here. Just a moment and I’ll get it to play.”
Aenti
Chelle beamed.

Betsy joined her at the table and watched as her
aenti
clicked on a file. It opened and the image filled the screen. The words “Around Town” drifted into view along with some happy-sounding music.

“What’s this? What’s going on?” Vera Byler said as she emerged from the kitchen. “I didn’t know you were going to start playing the television in the bakery.”

Betsy turned to face Mrs. Byler. “No one has said anything about television in the bakery. This morning, the television station showed the video story they made about the bakery.
Aenti
Chelle is here so I can see it. We all can.”

Mrs. Byler was probably the one who told the television people about Thaddeus doing prep work in the bakery. Betsy immediately regretted her suspicion, but then it made sense, as much as Mrs. Byler had made some hurtful comments about the bakery, even after beginning to work at the shop.

“Ready? Here goes.”
Aenti
Chelle reached down and clicked a key on the laptop.

“A new bakery opens in Sarasota’s Amish village of Pinecraft, and its young owner serves up a variety of tasty treats for every palate,” came the broadcaster’s voice.

“I’ve always loved to bake. Some women are better at quilting and such. I leave it to them, but I’d much rather find myself making pies, doughnuts, or fried pies.” There she was, with her back turned slightly to the camera. She could see her jaw line, but not quite her face.

The narrator did a good job at explaining how the Amish didn’t like to be recorded or photographed.

Betsy had never imagined herself on television. Her stomach quit churning and instead wound itself into a knot. What if some of the others didn’t like even seeing this much of her on television? She listened to the conversation, mingled with commentary from the newswoman.

Now a shot of her hands and forearms as she rolled out a fresh pie crust, then carefully folding the crust in half and sliding it onto a clean pan. Fingers, fluting the edges of the crust.

“ . . . I am thankful to my family for helping me, as well as local friends who help me with making pie filling, working the cash register.”

A shot of pies in the display case.

Henry Hostetler on camera. “I’ve known the family for years and I’ve had Betsy’s pie before at local haystack suppers. Nothing better than a slice of cherry pie and a good cup of coffee.”

A shot of the coffee display, with a customer, face blurred, pouring themselves a cup of the fresh brew.

“Here at Pinecraft Pies and Pastry, the coffee is always free, but a donation jar is always nearby, and Betsy says all donations go to the local Haiti mission fund.”

“We’re open every day except Sunday,” came Betsy’s voice, with a shot of an Amish couple, their backs to the camera, walking up to the bakery.

“
And when you stop by Pinecraft Pies and Pastry, make sure you say hello to Winston, Betsy’s charming dachshund.
” A shot of Betsy, back to camera, talking to the announcer as Winston sits up on his hind legs.

A flashback to the studios, to the morning show announcers. “Now, that just made my mouth water and gave me a sudden craving for pie,” said the male announcer. “I’ve never been over to Pinecraft before, either, although I’ve heard of it.”

“The village is primarily a winter vacation destination for the Amish and Mennonites from all over the country, especially Ohio, Indiana, and Pennsylvania,” said the newswoman, now in the studio. “Betsy and a few other residents live there year-round, but the population can grow to as high as seven thousand in the winter.”

“I hear there’s a pie contest this weekend—”

The video ended.

“Oh, my.” Betsy’s hands trembled. “I don’t know how they managed to put it all in order. And they mentioned Winston, too.”

“You did well.”
Aenti
Chelle patted her arm. “There. Relax. The best thing now is to just keep doing what you’re doing. Making good pie and caring for people.”

“They talked about the pie contest, too.” Vera Byler, hands on hips, stood beside Betsy. “Time for me to make sure my recipe is in order.”

“I finally figured out what I’m making.” Thaddeus had given Betsy his tiramisu pie recipe this morning. Until then, she wasn’t sure what she’d make for the contest.

“Betsy, I have to leave.” Vera rubbed her forehead. “I have a headache and I don’t think my breakfast sat well with me. I’m sorry.”

“All—all right. Of course. Just sign out, and I’ll take it all from here.”

“Thank you.” Vera untied her apron and headed for the kitchen.

Aenti
Chelle’s expression narrowed as she watched the kitchen door swing shut behind Mrs. Byler. “I think she’s jealous.”

“Jealous?” Betsy nearly voiced her suspicion minutes ago, but thought better of it.

“Yes. It’s obvious to me.”
Aenti
Chelle’s eyes softened. “I feel sorry for her. I know how it feels, to see someone else getting the dream she had. Or, maybe I’m wrong. Maybe the attention bothers her.”

Betsy opened her mouth to ask what
Aenti
Chelle meant, then closed it. She could never imagine her
Aenti
Chelle jealous or saying harsh things.

“Maybe. I hope she feels better soon. But right now, I have pies to fry, and they’re not going to take care of themselves.” If only Emma would stop vacationing long enough to help her.

“Your sister should be here, helping you.”
Aenti
Chelle shook her head. “Your parents are coming for supper tonight, by the way. Emma’s going to make her big announcement to them.”

“You know about her breaking her engagement?”

“Yes. And, she’s asked if she can stay here, like you did.”

“Why . . .”

“I have the room, or will, after
Aenti
Sarah moves back into her home, which I know she wants to do. She’s getting tired of my
Englisch
food.” Her aunt closed the laptop. “Ah, don’t look now, but here’s some customers. I wonder if they saw the program? I don’t recognize them.”

An
Englisch
couple was walking up to the front door, talking to each other and glancing up at the sign.

Betsy nodded and moved over to the counter and display case. She had much to do today, instead of thinking about Vera Byler’s jealousy, her sister’s decisions, and the pie contest in the morning.

* * *

Pete Stucenski trailed Thad Zook from Wednesday night on. If he could only get the guy alone, out of public places, or areas not chock-full of people in hats and suspenders. Then, Zook hopped his motorcycle and headed for Siesta Key Village.

All he had to do was get Thad to hand over the USB drive, and all would be well. The others, like the Amish girl Thad had the hots for, wouldn’t say anything. She probably had no clue what was on the drive, or what a USB drive was.

If only he’d gotten to Thad before the guy left Ohio and disappeared.

Bright had given him a deadline. This weekend had to be it, or he’d send people to handle it himself. They wouldn’t be as kind or gentle as Pete.

Pete almost regretted the whole thing would be over, one way or the other. He liked Florida. He considered cashing in all of his investments and uprooting himself to the Sunshine State. This time of year, hearing about four inches of snow on the ground in Ohio, the idea sounded brilliant.

Those Amish were pretty smart, keeping this vacation spot a secret.

He watched Thad pull into the parking lot of a snazzy-looking restaurant with an unoriginal name: Palm Trees. Now how hokey was that? Not much better than Dish and Spoon, a name Pete had gone around and around with Mitch about.

Thad headed into the restaurant.

Pete swung into action. Time to force his hand, a bit. Wearing gloves, he took the note he’d composed and printed at a copying store and securely tucked it to an obvious spot on the motorcycle.

If Thad wondered about anyone following him, he wouldn’t wonder anymore.

Pete hopped back into his car and headed for Pinecraft.

Chapter 26

26

T
had checked his phone after leaving Palm Trees. Nobody had called. He was glad he went with his gut and sent a copy of the video file to the detective in Columbus via overnight mail. Detective Kincaid should receive it by tomorrow afternoon, at the latest. E-mail would have been better, but his attempt to send the file via e-mail was rejected, saying the file was too large to transmit.

The joy over having a new job—without Pete Stucenski’s recommendation, thanks much—was dampened not a little by the knowledge Thad had.

He could call the papers or talk to the news in Columbus, but what would they do? Would anyone take him seriously? Nut jobs called the news all the time, he was sure.

Now that Senator Bright had secured his spot in Congress, he became a bigger target for critics of all kinds. Nothing new, trying to run a guy’s name through the mud. His charming personality had the media shaming any critics.

Thad’s best bet was getting the detective to listen. The police couldn’t possibly have closed Mitch’s case, not by a long shot, although by this time it had low priority. Maybe receiving a copy of the video files would put it to the top of the detective’s to-do list.

He squinted out across the parking lot as he put his helmet on. A nice place to work, and you couldn’t beat the view. Looking down, he saw a white paper tucked into the edge of the seat. Probably an ad, but then didn’t they have laws against people sticking flyers on vehicles?

He opened it.

Give me what you have and you won’t get hurt.

Someone knew. They’d followed him.

If they followed him here, they knew where he lived. They knew about Pinecraft.

He could run, again, this time knowing for sure he’d been followed.

He would never want to bring harm to anyone, his
mammi
or Betsy or any of them.

Gotte, what have I done?
He couldn’t go back, not right now.

Thad tried to think of who he could call, someone who could help without him dragging them into this.

He paced the parking lot. He was due to start work Monday. He wouldn’t give it up. And it wasn’t like whoever had been following him didn’t know about this location.

Time to find a place to hole up until he figured out what to do.

Maybe Beth might know somewhere around here.

He went back inside the restaurant and found Beth, ordering supplies at her desk.

“Thad, hey, did you forget something?”

“No, I’m curious. I need a place to stay this weekend, close to here if possible. Know anywhere cheap?”

“My aunt. She’s near Turtle Beach. Has a shop with a room upstairs. You might ask her. I’ll give you her number.” She scanned his face. “You okay?”

“Yup. I just need a room for a couple of days. Like tonight and tomorrow.”

“Ah, okay. Well, she might have a vacancy. If you can stand her religious and outdated stuff everywhere, it’s pretty nice.” Beth grabbed a scrap of paper and scribbled a number.

“Huh.” He reached out to take the paper from her. “Thanks. See you Monday.”

* * *

The family lined up around
Aenti
Chelle’s table, with the extra leaf included. Supper had been cleared away and someone had the dominoes handy. Betsy nudged Winston with her toes. The dog had been busy cleaning up the crumbs from the floor and had settled onto her feet.

Aenti
Chelle glanced at Emma. “Well, Emma, I know you’ve been bursting to speak to your parents.”

“Yes, I have.”

“What’s this all about?”
Daed
frowned. “You’re staying until New Year’s and taking the bus home, aren’t you?”

“I’ve, ah, I’ve decided to stay in Pinecraft.” Emma blurted out the words.

“But your engagement. And the wedding. What?”
Mamm
shook her head. “There will be much to do, getting your house set up.”

“Eli and I aren’t getting married.”

Betsy almost had to lean forward to catch her sister’s words. She braced herself.

“Not getting married?”
Mamm’s
voice squeaked. “But why, why not?”

“I—he—I—We’re just not. I’m not . . . not sure.”

“Better to let the dog go now, before it runs away on its own.”
Daed
’s expression remained flat. “What do you plan to do while you’re here? Pinecraft is vacation for some of us, but for others who live here, it’s work year-round. Your sister knows that.”

Did they blame her for Emma’s decision? Betsy didn’t know if she ought to contribute anything to the conversation or not.

“I’ve decided to clean houses, like Betsy did.
Aenti
Chelle needs someone, especially with Betsy opening the bakery.” Emma sounded matter-of-fact and resolute. “Once I can start taking in sewing work, I’ll do that, too.”

Something had changed, though, for Emma to make such a drastic decision. Emma despised cleaning, if her demeanor about housework were any clue. Emma was a good seamstress, so the idea of taking in sewing wasn’t such a bad one.

However, Betsy was relieved she hadn’t left
Aenti
Chelle in a tight spot with extra work. She’d managed to take on one account from Betsy, but still needed help with two others.

More discussion followed, but Betsy waited for them to bring up the subject of the bakery on television. At last, with Emma’s jaw set, she fell silent.
Mamm
still appeared ready to cry and
Daed
looked ready to walk over to Pinecraft Park and play some bocce.

“So,”
Daed
said, turning his gaze on Betsy, “I understand the television station did put on the show about the bakery.”

“Yes, they did.
Aenti
Chelle has the recording for you to see.”

“I do want to see it.” Betsy couldn’t gauge her father’s expression.

“If you’d like, before we start the dominoes game, I can show it to you.”
Aenti
Chelle glanced at Betsy before continuing. “I believe they did a good job, everything considered.”

“Everything considered?”
Daed
asked.

“Um, well . . . someone called the television station on Wednesday and told them I have help baking the pies from someone who’s not Amish.” Betsy hadn’t wanted to tell them that.

“See, I told you nothing good would come of allowing . . . that man to help in the bakery.”
Mamm
shook her head.

“I think it’s someone who’s jealous and just wants to make trouble,” said
Aenti
Chelle. “I also have a good idea of who might have made that call.” Better her aunt say the words than Betsy, although they were true enough.

“Well, what’s done is done.”
Daed
shook his head. “As far as the young Zook man is concerned, if he has skills and stays out of trouble, I say we have his help. Better his help than from someone who’d sooner put salt in your sugar bowl.”

“Do you mean, ah, Mrs. Byler?”

“Ya. Her husband came and told me she’d called the television station. He apologized. He knows how hard you have worked on the bakery, and how we’ve helped you.”

Betsy nodded slowly.
Daed
was okay with Thaddeus helping her. The thought cheered her, but the idea that he’d likely get another job didn’t make her smile.

“Another thing,”
Daed
added. “Henry Hostetler came to me with a warning. He said there’s an imposter among us, he has confirmation of the fact, and he’s going to bring the person to Bishop Smucker straightaway.”

* * *

“I’m so glad you find the room suitable. It’s not fancy, but then I’m used to taking in people who aren’t used to fancy,” Beth’s aunt told Thad as they stood on the balcony and surveyed the inside of the one-room studio, complete with kitchenette. “I usually put missionaries up who are visiting my church, or the occasional wanderer in need of a place to lay their head.”

The sun was headed down in the western sky, lighting the room above Gulfside Treasures Gift Shoppe at Turtle Beach.

“Ah, it’s nice of you.” Thad wanted some peace and quiet. If he was being followed, they’d have a good view of the ocean tonight instead of the snug streets of Pinecraft.

“Well, if you need anything, here’s my cell phone number. I’m sorry I didn’t have time to pick up anything for a snacks basket, so here.” She handed him a folded-up bill. “There’s a corner store a few blocks down where you can get a few munchies.”

“Thanks, but you didn’t have to.”

“No, but I want to.” She looked at him intently, reminding him a little of Betsy’s
Aenti
Rochelle, so adept at taking care of people. “I pray you find what you’re looking for, and what you need most.”

“Um, thanks.” He watched her head down the stairway attached to the side of the building. A unique lady, to put it mildly.

Thad scanned the street paralleling the Gulf. Its crisscrossing traffic didn’t have room for anyone to park. He studied the gift shop parking lot below. No cars, save for Beth’s aunt backing out slowly into traffic, making the approaching vehicles all slow down to a crawl.

Nobody had followed him here, at least that he knew of. Good. If they returned to Pinecraft, they wouldn’t find him there either.

What to do, what to do? Once inside the studio apartment, Thad resumed the pacing he’d commenced in the restaurant parking lot earlier. Beth’s aunt had a television set, but no cable. A DVD player, but the collection was all movies like
The Three Stooges
and somebody called Shirley Temple. A few kids’ cartoons.

The only book, a Bible.

Thad wanted to laugh. During his visit with Ben Esh, his friend had talked about reading the Bible, how over the years it had “come alive” for him.

“I never knew, Thaddeus, the Bible could sound as if it were a message for me. Not just for everyone else, but it was for me. God tells me what I need to hear, to know, partly through my studies.”

Wouldn’t it be nice? Thad still couldn’t grasp the idea that it was okay to study the Bible. In his home,
Daed
would talk about it a lot, but for the most part, the bishops and other elders did the teaching. He wasn’t sure if his parents even had a Bible, although he’d heard some families did. But with some, a Bible was used more for recording family events, births, deaths than actual study. Too much studying could make one proud, he’d been told.

He decided to burn off his fidgets and hopefully fight away the willies with a trip to the corner store Beth’s aunt had mentioned. Within thirty minutes, he’d made the walk, bought an armful of junk food, large bottle of pop, and a hot mini-pizza, and returned to the apartment. No vehicles.

Thad climbed the stairs, then locked the door and used the deadbolt once he was inside. He then set up the food and snacks on the little kitchen counter but brought the pizza and pop to the table.

Now, to cure his grumbling stomach.

Thad thumbed through the Bible while he ate, careful not to get any grease on the pages. Ben said something about the Psalms being good reading, an example of pouring out your heart to God. Thad never imagined anyone could do so, or if God would be interested.

He skimmed one of the chapters, ninety-one.

Living in the Most High’s shelter,

camping in the Almighty’s shade,

I say to the L
ord
, “You are my refuge,

my stronghold!

You are my God—the one I trust!”

God will save you from the hunter’s trap

and from deadly sickness.

God will protect you with his pinions;

you’ll find refuge under his wings.

His faithfulness is a protective shield.

Don’t be afraid of terrors at night,

arrows that fly in daylight,

or sickness that prowls in the dark,

destruction that ravages at noontime.

Good words. He needed some safety and assurance right now, a stronghold, a refuge, protection.

“
Gotte
, can I trust You? I know I haven’t followed the ways of the
Ordnung
, but to follow You? Show me the way, the path I need to follow. Please.” The words bounced off the walls and he felt a little foolish. He didn’t deserve
Gotte’s
help. He wasn’t bad, but in the eyes of many, he wasn’t good, either.

He kept reading as he ate his pizza. Not as good as Village Pizza by Emma, but it would do for tonight.

The night fell, and Thad turned on a lamp and kept reading. Then he arrived at a long chapter, one-hundred-nineteen, but it was broken up in to easy bits to read.

Your word is a lamp before my feet

and a light for my journey.

I have sworn, and I fully mean it:

I will keep your righteous rules.

I have been suffering so much—

L
ord
, make me live again

according to your promise.

Please, L
ord
, accept my

spontaneous gifts of praise.

Teach me your rules!

Though my life is constantly in danger,

I won’t forget your instruction.

Though the wicked have set a trap for me,

I won’t stray from your precepts.

Your laws are my possession forever

because they are my heart’s joy.

I have decided to keep your statutes

forever, every last one.

It read like someone’s private journal of thoughts. Thad tried to understand the concept of comfort in protection and rules. But then, who got to set those rules? Betsy bowed to the will of her elders, even if they didn’t agree with her. She found it “comforting,” she’d once said her family was on her side, so to speak.

Thad wiped his fingers on a napkin after he ate the last bite of pizza. He had the feeling, somehow,
Gotte
didn’t mind so much if he were a pastry chef. He’d had the basic “rules” drilled into him his entire life, except for the last almost ten years. The rules still prodded him at odd moments.

If
he were to go back to the Amish, he wouldn’t in Ohio. Everyone would expect him to be the Thaddeus they knew. But that wasn’t him anymore. Florida, though, had opened up possibilities and even freedom.